


Merry Fucking Christmas

by Dangerousnotbroken



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Cas, M/M, Mistletoe, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, holiday smut, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas come back to the bunker to find mistletoe hung up everywhere.  Dean gets an idea, although it's probably not what Sam was thinking when he hung the stuff in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Fucking Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GraduateGraduate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraduateGraduate/gifts).



> Somewhat last minute Christmas gift fic for the lovely GraduateGraduate, who shares my love of all things smutty Destiel. This girl is the bomb-diggity.

“SAM??!!” Dean’s voice rings out through the cavernous halls of the bunker. Cas follows close behind and kicks the door shut behind him, arms laden with grocery bags, his ever-present trench coat threatening to slide off his shoulders under the weight of the bags. He beats a quick path to to kitchen and deposits everything on the counter, shrugging his shoulders in freedom and resettling the coat before calling out to his companion.

“Sam left a note,” he bellows before treading out of the kitchen to track Dean down. Castiel has a pretty good idea of where to find him, he figures. Dean is nothing if not predictable. He finds Dean exactly where he expected, seated at the long table where they take their meals. There's an array of Christmas themed items spread out over the table before him, but Dean seems to be focused mostly on the ones hanging from the ceiling.

“Sam left a note,” Cas repeats. “He's gone out for the rest of the afternoon. He didn't specify why.” Dean glances away from the décor above his head to grin at Cas.

“Christmas shopping, dude. He's gone Christmas shopping.” Cas frowns.

“I don't understand the need for all the decorations. Why do you hang tree branches indoors? Why is everything sparkly? Why do you spend a whole month preparing for a single day of festivities?” Dean barks a laugh, reaches up and drags Cas down into a slow, lazy kiss before replying.

“It’s not tree branches, Cas. It's mistletoe. You're supposed to kiss when you're under it. Tradition.” He grins and kisses Cas again, somewhat less lazily this time.

“There is certainly a lot of mistletoe hung up in here. We’re supposed to kiss under all of it?” Cas doesn't have long to look puzzled before Dean hauls him down into his lap, wrapping strong arms around his waist and nuzzling against Cas’ neck.

“Kiss,” he replies. “Or, you know. Whatever.” Dean’s mouth curls into a devilish grin and Cas can't help but smile back, his face flushing at the list of things Dean could be alluding to.

“I hardly think Sam has hung mistletoe in your bedroom,” Cas teases. He slides his hands under the hem of Dean’s tee-shirt to trace lazy patterns across the soft skin of his lower back.

“So we won’t go to the bedroom,” Dean replies bluntly. “I think right here looks just fine.” He shifts Cas’ weight a little so he’s straddling Dean’s lap rather than sitting sideways and pushes at the collar of the trench coat. Cas follows suit and sheds it casually, letting it fall to the floor without a further thought before bringing his hands to rest on Dean’s shoulders.

Castiel doesn’t get a chance to reply. He opens his mouth to speak but the second his lips are parted, Dean’s mouth crashes into his and Dean’s tongue licks into his mouth. Still, there’s nothing he’d rather do than reciprocate, so he clings to the hunter with all the strength his arms can muster and throws himself into the kiss. Dean’s hands are greedy as they take Cas in, roaming over his body with need and hunger until Cas’ clothes are dishevelled as the mop of hair atop his head and Cas is leaning into every touch. He fumbles with the first few buttons on Cas’ shirt, hard to reach with their bodies pressed close together, and Cas leans back just slightly to allow Dean better purchase. When the last button is free the shirt slides from Cas’ shoulders and falls to the floor, forgotten. Dean slides an idle thumb across the Enochian symbols inked on Cas’ side. He doesn’t even have to look to know exactly where they are any more. He’s pressed his lips to that tattoo so many times by now he knows them like he knows his own skin.

Cas tips his head back with a pleased sigh as Dean works his mouth around one of Cas’ nipples. His eyes slide closed and his fingers knot in the fabric of Dean’s tee-shirt, but under the haze of pleasure he’s consciously aware that Dean should not be wearing clothing any more. So he looses his hold long enough to guide his hands down to the hem of the shirt and works it upwards until Dean is forced to break away from his task and let Cas drag the garment off over his head. Then his hands are tangling in Cas’ hair, grabbing rough handfuls and dragging Cas back down to meet his mouth, and any protest Cas might have made is swallowed up as Dean kisses like his life depends on it. It’s possible it does, Cas thinks. They’ve faced weirder scenarios.

When Dean finally lets him up for air, Cas is pleased to find the hunter looks as wrecked as he feels. His lips are a delicious shade of bruise-bitten pink, a fair match for the blush that sweeps across his cheeks beneath the random assortment of freckles, and there’s a hunger in Dean’s eyes that Cas is all too familiar with. So he grinds his hips down just slightly, movement restricted by their awkward positioning in the chair, and when Dean gasps in response, he lets slip a little chuckle and then slides off the chair to stand before his hunter.

“Up,” Cas commands, pulling Dean by one hand until he’s standing as well. “We’ve got more mistletoe to kiss under.”

Cas leads him from the table into the kitchen, glancing up to locate a sprig of mistletoe hung just above the fridge. His hands work quickly at the fastenings on Dean’s jeans and in one swift motion; he’s pushing them down to pool around Dean’s ankles, trapping him in his boots, and crowding Dean up against the fridge. Dean can barely move but his hands are free, so he grips Cas’ hips and drops his mouth to the angel’s neck, biting at the fragile flesh and leaving little pink marks wherever his teeth have been. Cas leans his head back and bares his throat, giving Dean access to whatever he wants, and sneaks a hand between their warm bodies to wrap slender fingers around Dean’s cock, already hard and leaking. Dean groans at the added sensation and redoubles his efforts, mouthing at Cas’ collar bone and leaving purple marks in his wake. _Mine_ , they say, to anyone who’d dare to look. _This is my angel._

Cas makes a low noise in his throat, something happy and demanding all at the same time, and drops down to kneel in front of Dean. His knees hit the tile with a harsh knock, but he can’t be bothered to complain. Instead, his tongue comes out to lave against the head of Dean’s cock, lapping up the precome that’s collected there. It’s salty and bitter and unmistakeably Dean, and the strangled sound Dean makes in response is worth any pain Cas might be feeling in his kneecaps right that moment. He works his tongue up and down the shaft in a slow, teasing motion before coming back up and wrapping his lips around the head. Dean’s hips twitch forward in clear approval of Cas’ taunting, but he stills them with a hand pressed firmly against the hipbone and takes as much of Dean into his mouth as he can fit. What doesn’t make it in to his mouth is wrapped in Cas’ free hand, lips and fingers working in tandem to lick and suck and stroke the length of Dean’s cock, filling the kitchen with the sound of Dean’s stuttering groans and the slurp of Cas’ mouth.

Cas knows Dean is getting close when he feels a hand on the back of his head, not pulling him down, just a steady caress of fingertips against his scalp. He takes Dean deep in to his throat a few more times for good measure before pulling off with an obscene noise and standing up to claim Dean’s mouth in a deep, wet kiss.

“I bet there’s more mistletoe in the war room,” Dean murmurs, his voice low and wrecked with lust. Dean takes a brief moment to discard his boots and the jeans that are still tangled around his ankles, and then leads Cas away from the kitchen. He pauses when they reach the war room to shed his own pants before joining Dean under the mistletoe hung above one end of the table. He leans in for a kiss, but Dean only gives him a brief peck before spinning him around and bending him roughly over the illuminated map. Dean nudges his legs further apart, and Cas can feel the hard jut of Dean’s dick nudging against his thigh as he moves closer and presses a slick finger against Cas’ hole. Cas has no idea where he got the lube from. If Dean’s started stashing little bottles all over the bunker then things are going to get very, very interesting in the coming weeks. He doesn’t waste time thinking about it though, because Dean’s easing his finger into Cas’ entrance, the slickness and the burn almost overwhelming, and he grips the edge of the table to keep himself from pushing back against the finger before he’s ready. Dean makes a sound between a hum and a laugh as he works the finger in and out, the slow drag of skin on skin opening Cas up with each stroke. He’s ready for a second finger before too long, and Cas nearly cries out at the increased sensation. It’s not enough though, he needs more. Needs to be full, needs to feel Dean inside him, filling him up and taking him apart. Cas pushes his hips back in little aborted thrusts, held mostly in place by Dean’s other hand on his hip and Dean’s legs pressed close to his thighs. Dean grants his wish though, adding a third finger before Cas is really ready for it, and a fourth not long after that, so that Cas’ slick hole is stretched around Dean’s digits and Cas is bucking back against them, desperate noises falling from Cas’ lips with each thrust.

When he decides Cas has had enough, Dean pulls his fingers out and lines his cock up, sliding in up to the hilt in a long, slow motion that has them both breathless before he’s pressed up against Cas’ hips. Dean’s hands grip Cas’ hips tightly and they’re still for a moment before he begins to move. Dean’s motions are steady and smooth, pulling back almost all the way before sliding home. Cas can’t understand how he exercises such control. It’s all he can do not to push himself back to meet each thrust. Dean carries on almost casually as Cas grows more and more desperate beneath him. He’s on the verge of begging, actually begging, when Dean sees fit to take pity on him and fuck Cas in earnest.

It takes Cas almost by surprise when Dean’s pace changes and he feels Dean slam into his ass, and it’s fortunate he’s already gripping the edge of the table because there’s a hell of a lot of force behind it. Dean laughs softly at the startled gasp that tumbles from Cas’ lips, but he doesn’t let up. He finds a brutal rhythm, and for a while the only sounds in the room are the slap of skin on skin as his hips drive into the meat of Cas’ ass.

“Fuck, Cas, you feel so good,” Dean groans. His fingers threaten to leave bruises on Cas’ hips and Cas’ legs quiver with the effort of holding himself up, but he loves every second of it and Dean knows it. Cas moves to slip a hand beneath him to grab his own cock, but the second he lets go of the table the force of Dean’s thrusts drives him forward and he has to grab back on.

Dean practically growls as his orgasm punches through him, his hips slamming into Cas a few more times as he spills deep inside the angel, clutching possessively at Cas’ hips. Cas groans, drives himself back to meet the last few thrusts, and he almost whines when Dean pulls out right away. But Dean’s not finished with him yet.

Dean pulls Cas upright with un-gentle hands, then spins him around and backs him against the table. His mouth is on Cas’ mouth, his hands are everywhere, and Cas has no choice but to let himself be kissed and fondled and touched. Dean kisses him breathless and then in one swift motion, Cas is being lifted on to the table and tipped to lie backwards on the illuminated map set into the surface. Dean settles between Cas’ thighs, lifts his legs to perch on Dean’s shoulders, and takes Cas’ cock all the way in to his mouth with no preamble. The slick warmth of Dean’s lips is glorious after so much neglect. Cas lets his hands wander down his own body to Dean’s head, his fingers grabbing roughly at Dean’s hair, encouraging him to keep doing what he’s doing because _oh god yes!_

Dean seems to take the hint. His tongue and his lips work at Cas’ cock like they were made for it, like Dean’s sole purpose is to bring Cas pleasure, and right now, it pretty much is. His body wants to be limp and sleepy, the laziness of his orgasm not quite forgotten in his desire to give Cas’ body as much pleasure as he’s taken from it. So while his mouth works at Cas’ cock, he slides two fingers into Cas’ stretched out hole, slick with lube and his own come, and finds the little bundle of nerves that he knows will make Cas fall apart.

The sounds that are ripped from Cas’ throat as he jabs relentlessly at that sweet spot are music to Dean’s ears. He doesn’t let up, not for a second, thrusting ruthlessly against Cas’ prostate on each thrust as he sucks Cas down as deep as his throat will let him. Cas writhes on the table beneath him, hands painfully tight in Dean’s hair, but Dean doesn’t care. All he wants is to make Cas scream.

Dean gets his wish. Cas’ entire body tenses as he comes, spilling down Dean’s throat. He chokes out a moan, loud and deep and throaty. Dean jabs his prostate one last time and sucks down every drop Cas will give him, not pulling his mouth off of Cas’ cock until he’s oversensitive and trembling at every touch.

“Jesus Christ!” Dean hears a voice bellow from behind him. “I know it’s not a dorm room or anything but could you two at least put a fucking sock on the door?” He looks up to see Sam standing in the door way, an arm thrown up to shield his eyes from all the nudity before him.

“It’s not my fault, Sammy. You’re the one who put up mistletoe everywhere,” Dean smirks, holding out a hand to help Cas off the table. Cas at least has the decency to blush.

“Ok but if I knew you’d take that as an invitation to…Oh my god Dean what the fuck…You and Cas? Really? I’m leaving now. Please put some pants on? Please?” Sam runs from the room without a further word, and Dean doesn’t stop laughing until he hears Sam’s bedroom door slam shut in the distance.

“Come on Cas,” he says, light and casual. “Let’s see if there’s any mistletoe hung in the bathroom. I need a shower.”


End file.
